


isn’t this domestic

by mjolnirdork



Category: Black Friday - Fandom, Black Friday - Team StarKid, Black Friday Starkid, StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: Black Friday, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Starkid - Freeform, black friday starkid - Freeform, gay husbands in love, general john mcnamara - Freeform, lex foster (mentioned) - Freeform, xander lee - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23426851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjolnirdork/pseuds/mjolnirdork
Summary: Xander doesn’t know when to stop.John doesn’t know how to acknowledge his feelings.Neither knows how to cook.
Relationships: Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	isn’t this domestic

**Author's Note:**

> commission for @myfavoritecharactersaredead on tumblr. hope you enjoy this disaster of a fluff fic. 
> 
> my gay dads deserve the word okay? okay

General John McNamara has been described as many things.

Purposeful.  
Determined.  
Dedicated.  
Tactical.  
A leader to admire. 

He has walked through hell and back. He has lost good and bad people for the sake of mankind, and he would do it again because that’s what soldiers do.

John is many things, but on Saturday, 0800 in the AM, he is extremely frazzled.

“Xander Lee, it has been almost 18 hours since you’ve paused from your technological pursuits for basic nutrition and hydration.” He crosses his arms, glar— staring intently at the back of his partner’s hunched over form.

“Good morning to you too, John,” Xander replies drolly, twirling around in the swivel chair John got for him on their first anniversary. It’s ages old and he insists it’s the best chair to exist, despite John’s insistence otherwise. His sharp cheeks and bright brown eyes light up in a grin. “I see you’re finally wearing the pajamas I got you.”

John picks at the soft pink shirt he has on, shaking his head at the matching baby elephant pants to go with it. “I don’t understand the aesthetic value of this get up,” he mutters softly. “It’s useless for tactical missions.”

“It looks good on you,” Xander smiles, turning his head back to his computer. “And it’s to sleep in, not save the world with.”  
“Well, it’s helpful to be prepared…and you’re deflecting the question.” John crosses the minuscule divide from the bedroom to the living room, wrapping an arm around Xander’s thin frame. “As your commanding officer, take a break.”

Xander taps a control on his keyboard, leaning his head back against John’s chest. “And as my husband?”  
“Take a break. Please.”  
“I’m finally gaining ground on this theory...”  
“I said please.” John kisses the top of his head and gently lets go, turning to the small square kitchen in their government issued apartment, which John keeps clean because anything less would be a mortal sin. “Want me to make some breakfast?”

Xander takes his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. “Definitely, thanks.”  
“Are you actually gonna eat it, or are you gonna let it get cold like last time?” John opens the cupboard to look at what remains from the younger PEIP agents’ rowdy initiation party last night. The new recruit, Lex Foster, seems to be adjusting well, and John takes pride in how quickly she warmed up to Xander and himself, given her uninterested look on life. 

(Even if it means figuring out how to make anything from a bunch of bananas and a bag half full of bread, since that’s all he can scrounge up.)

Xander chuckles through a sigh. “Okay, that was one time. One.”  
“That was a joke, Xander.” John tucks a lock of his decidedly curly hair behind an ear, pulling out a frying pan. “Tell me you’ve at least had a glass of water.”

He hears the furious clicking of a keyboard and the screeching of office chair wheels, smirking to himself as Xander hurries to take a swig from his very full and very heavy water bottle.

“I hate you. I actually, definitely hate you.” God, he’s pretty when he’s mad as hell. Not that John would ever give in to the satisfaction of telling him that. 

“I’m sure. Orange or mango juice?”  
“Mango. How is that even a question?”

John wrinkles his nose as he pulls out a pitcher from the fridge. “The sugar in this is far above required levels to function. It’s probably not even real mango.”  
“Only a psychopath drinks orange juice, John, and that’s final.”

John doesn’t bother to hide his snort, and the two men trade impish looks at each other across the apartment before continuing their tasks.

The past weeks haven’t allowed for any blessed pause like the one they were taking right now, no time for playful teasing and little jokes, no gentle touches and soft smiles. Not when there were pandemics and invasions all over the globe on a daily basis. Not when the world depended on PEIP and its leaders to solve its problems for itself, with no acknowledgement or thanks.. Sacrifice and all that shit, the kids would say.

John never thought to complain, but standing here with stale bread and a cup of juice, he almost wishes life was easier. Let more Saturday mornings exist. Maybe some actually decent breakfasts. Xander deserves that much.

The least John could do was be the best partner he knew how, and that was by making sure his husband actually stayed healthy, goddammit.

“I’m gonna try smashing the bananas together and make some purée for the bread to fry in,” he calls out, peeling the fruit into a bowl. 

“Someone’s been watching Masterchef.” Xander rises from his desk, taking his phone with him. He sits backward on a creaky chair, wincing at the sound of his back cracking from hours of terrible posture. “You okay?” 

John finds some eggs in the fridge and adds them into his mix, flipping a switch on the stove. He chews on his lip. “I’m functioning.”  
“Is that technical terms for “I’m trying to mask my feelings”? Because I didn’t marry you for functional purposes.”  
“Hey.” He forgot how snarky his partner could be.  
Xander beams. “It’s true and you know it.”

John tries to stop the smile tugging at his cheeks, focusing on dipping bread slices into the goopy mix, adding it into a pan. “I just…”  
He shakes his head. 

“John?”

“Do you ever think about a normal life?” John blurts out. He lets the culinary disaster sizzle, eyes flicking over to his husband’s concerned face before looking down. “Get an office job, live on a nice block, get a dog? Something normal?” he shrugs. 

Would he even know what normal is?

Xander taps the back of the chair, cracking his knuckles. “Maybe in another universe. Somewhere.” 

He doesn’t mention that there are other universes and they probably have much happier narratives than the one they’re in right now. He doesn’t point out the existence of worlds without pain and suffering and idiotic people, the reasons why there’s no way John and Xander could ever have anything but a life of missions and duty. 

He doesn’t have to. John already knows.

“I wish it was this one, babe.”  
“Me too.” Xander’s throat goes tight, and he laughs softly, getting up to reach for John’s lowered shoulders. “But I have you. And that’s all I’ve wanted.”

“Are you going soft on me, Lee?” John whispers in delicate gravitas, an actual smile slipping past his stoic face.  
“Someone’s gotta do it in this relationship.” Xander squeezes his hand, gently pecking his lips. “Oh, and that pan’s on fire.”

John turns around and curses, yanking the smoking pan away from the heat. His curls collide with his face as he expertly fishes a blackened piece of bread out into a plate, sighing.

“Those kids could’ve at least left the cereal untouched.” he grumbles in all seriousness, finally breaking into a grin as Xander laughs his ass off. “Damnit.”

His mind acknowledges that he did nothing useful, but his heart is too busy feeling full to care much. Maybe that was the point.

Xander tucks a lock of hair behind John’s ear, the contented smile on his face filling John with all sorts of warm feelings. 

“I think any other reality would be lucky to have us in their world, John.”  
John locks hands with him. “You think so?”  
“I know I am.”

And suddenly nothing really matters anymore. The work and the hurt and the credit fade away, and John leans his head on Xander’s shoulders and breathes.

General John McNamara is many things.

A damn loyal husband.  
Caring.  
Affectionate.  
Wearing a very pink, very soft shirt.  
Seriously in love.

And on Saturday sometime in the morning, he is happy. His world is in his hands. And that’s all that matters to him. 

“Okay, wait, I’m actually hungry now.”

“That’s your own fault, agent, do I look like your caretaker?”

He does, and he loves it.


End file.
